


Bend and Change and Shift

by authoresskika



Category: Him Series - Sarina Bowen & Elle Kennedy
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gay Sex, Hotel Sex, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Coital Cuddling, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoresskika/pseuds/authoresskika
Summary: From HIM, chapter 37:"Tonight, I want you in nothing but my Toronto jersey."Jamie sputters with laughter and gives my cheek a fake slap. "You ass. I'm not your puck bunny.""Please? I've never fucked a puck bunny. This is my only chance."He wraps his arms around my body and squeezes my ass. I receive a single, bruising kiss before he steps back. "Now give me your hotel key and go to your dinner already. No more lip."...the inevitable conclusion to this sweet/hot conversation, later, in Wes's hotel room.





	Bend and Change and Shift

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed this scene, okay?
> 
> Wes and Jamie belong to Sarina and Elle. I'm just borrowing them.
> 
> Happy reading :)

I nearly board the elevator to the twelfth floor before I remember that Canning has my room key. I suppose nothing is exactly stopping me from just knocking—none of my other teammates staying here tonight are on my floor, so it’s not like someone will see me knocking on a door to what’s supposed to be an empty room. But I just got Jamie back, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him out of my bed again, ever. We’ll both need a key to this room until my apartment— _our_ apartment—is ready for us.

My heart is goddamn pounding in my ears when I finally get the second key and make it onto the lift. I’m sharing the car with a family getting off at the tenth floor, and it’s a good thing I’ve taken off Jamie’s jacket and can hold it in front of my crotch so I don’t look like some creeper for how hard I am at the thought of him being up there, waiting for me. I don’t care if he’s actually in my jersey, or if he’s fully dressed and I have to take his clothes off piece by piece. Jamie is _here_. With _me_. In _Toronto_. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for this morning, or any morning since I fled Lake Placid like the coward I was. It’s still maybe more than I deserve that he’s here. But, oh, God, am I ever grateful.

My feet race me to my room as soon as the elevator doors ding open. In my haste and horny, dazed state, I have to try the card in the slot three times before the green light flashes and I can push the door open. A part of me expects Jamie’s body to land on mine before I can get onto the other side, but the room is almost totally dark. The light from the TV glows soft blue, and there’s something yellow and flickering from the other side. Fuck—did he go get candles? That’s something I should have thought of, but never in a million years would have. It’s so goddamn romantic I kind of want to cry. I almost call out to him, but something keeps me silent. I close the door behind me with a gentle click, and follow the soft lighting towards the giant bed. As my eyes adjust, I make out three things: yes, he got candles, but not the kind we’re going to knock over and set the room on fire with. He _is_ wearing my jersey, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s also wearing those fucking crazy white boxers with kittens on them I bought him in Boston. Jesus—he brought those to Toronto? He didn’t burn them when I ditched him in Lake Placid? The hugeness of that strikes me stupid.

The last thing I notice, though, is that he’s asleep. He’s curled up on the big bed, a pillow and his left arm tucked under his head, and he’s sound asleep. I wasn’t out late—we’ve got an early ice time tomorrow, so the coaches had us all wrapped at the restaurant by 8:30. But I guess it’s been as big a day for Jamie as it has for me, one full of emotions and possibilities and new beginnings.

Fuck. Thinking about it, I’m kind of sleepy now, too.

But I’m also horny. So fucking horny, because I’ve been breathing in his scent all evening. Every time I moved in this suit, it felt like I’d placed my nose directly into the curve of Canning’s neck and taken a deep inhale. I’d been so hot and bothered by it, I’d almost gone to the bathroom to beat off once or twice. Thankfully, a couple of beers calmed me down until I landed back in the hotel lobby. As nice as it might be to just curl up next to him and sleep like the dead until morning, I can’t possibly do it. I don’t know how long he’s been asleep, but I think I’m going to have fun waking him.

As quietly as I can, I take off the jacket, tie, and slacks of his suit and hang them on the back of the bathroom door so they won’t wrinkle. I toe out of the dress socks and shoes and leave them on the bathroom floor. I pad into the big room and find the remote for the TV next to his still, outstretched hand on the bed. He’s tuned to some primetime soap, and as I think about how much fun I’ll have fun teasing him about it later, it strikes me all over again: Jamie Canning is right there. He’s going to be working in Toronto. He’s going to be in the same city as me, in the same apartment as me, in the same bed as me from here on out. Jamie Canning, as crazy as it fucking sounds, loves me. He loves me, and he wants to be with me.

Yep. Dreams really do come true. God. Damn.

I snap off the tube and ease myself onto the bed next to him. He stirs, either from the new silence of the room, or the weight of me on the mattress and his sleepy grunt is music to my ears.

“Wes?”

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Nice nap?”

“Fuck, I really did drop off, didn’t I?” He rolls onto his back and rubs his eyes. My eyes are still adjusting to the dim battery-powered candlelight, but I can see the sleepy daze on his face, and I love it. It's a sight I never thought I’d see again.

“I almost didn't want to wake you,” I admit.

“I’d have kicked your ass if you hadn’t.” He pulls me by the collar of the shirt and plasters his mouth over mine. He brushed his teeth before he curled up, I can tell, and when he moans in my mouth, the sound and the vibration against my tongue goes straight to my dick.

“I’d never have been able to resist, baby. You got candles? That’s so cheesy—I love it,” I tell him between hard presses of his lips against mine.

“One of us has to be the romantic here, dude,” he says even as he’s reaching around to grab my ass through my underwear. “I’d never expect it to actually be you.”

I can’t find it in me to argue, because doing so would require not kissing him, not slipping my tongue past his lips and finding his, not pitching my weight against him to stretch out on top of him. It’s all well and good to tease and make fun of each other, but if I don’t get inside Jamie in the next few minutes, feel his hot skin against mine, I’ll come in my underwear from complete sexual frustration.

And he’s on the same pages as me, I can tell. As I massage his tongue with mine and gently rut my crotch against his, he’s meeting me back thrust for thrust, and his cock is just as hard as mine. He’s breathing hard already, so I swipe my tongue across his soft palate once or twice more before I rear back on my knees and let him catch his breath.

“Shirt. Off.” he says, and reaches for the top most button of the shirt I’m wearing. He sits up as he slides each button out of the tiny hole it’s fastened in, and every time he pops one and exposes a couple more inches of my skin, he presses his hot mouth against my flesh. My spine goes rigid, and I suck in fast, hard breaths just to keep from going over the edge with the incredible pressure of his lips against my chest. When he’s nearly doubled over, looping his tongue around my navel after he loosens the last button, I whip the shirt off my arms and fling it across the room, then shove him back down and hover over him again to attack his neck in kind.

“Fuck, yes,” he whispers, and I look up at him through my half-hooded eyes.

“No one we know is gonna overhear us, Canning,” I say right before I reach under my jersey and find one of his nipples with my thumb and forefinger. “We don’t have to be quiet tonight. We don’t have to be quiet ever again.”

“Your teammates—?” he asks, his voice catching when I give the little nub a gentle flick with my fingernail.

“All on other floors. Don’t know why, don’t care why. I’m gonna fuck you hard tonight, and I want you to be loud as hell when I do. Be loud, Jamie. I want to hear you.” I’d suck on his neck, leave a bruise maybe, mark him as my own, but if he’s starting a new job soon, I can’t do something so juvenile. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to take my jersey off him after he’d been so obliging to me in wearing it. So instead, I start sliding down his body, slipping my fingers into the kitten boxers, and then nudge them down his hips.

“I need your cock in my mouth, Canning,” I tell him, and he groans loud and long as he lifts his ass up off the bed and helps me tug the shorts down and off his feet the rest of the way. He’s barely got his legs back on the bed, barely spread his thighs at all before I wrap my lips around him and start drawing him all the way inside my mouth. He thrusts up, and his cock slides so far down my throat he’d probably choke me if I weren’t already hellbent on taking him that deep.

“Jesus fuck, Wes,” he groans, and starts to fuck my mouth with shallow, greedy thrusts. I let him, because I may have just eaten one of the best meals the city of Toronto has to offer tonight, but I’ll be damned if Jamie Canning isn’t the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. He’s leaking already, and he’s hot and salty and I want to swallow every drop of him, savor it, let it leave an indelible mark on my palate that he’s mine, forever, for the taking like this. Jamie loves me, and this is the first of so many nights we can spend like this.

So I ravish him with my mouth, and channel everything I feel for him, have always felt for him, into the pull of my mouth around his dick. I force his hips to still under my palms and take over all the work, tonguing his slit with my barbell, letting my teeth graze along the underside of his shaft. When he starts squirming, I let him drop from my mouth entirely and suck his balls into my mouth, and that gets him bucking underneath me again. I force his hands down to his sides when he tries to grab himself, pump himself, because he never has to get himself off again if I have anything to say about it. I’ll love him in this way, and in all ways, forever if he’ll let me.

And he is fucking letting me. I can feel him quiver and tense underneath my ministrations, and he’s gasping and moaning so loud, we probably are disturbing whoever’s in the rooms next to us, but I just don’t care. No one in the world matters to me right now, except him.

“Wes, you’re gonna… fuck! I’m gonna come!”

I keep sucking him, because I _want_ him to come for me. I want to destroy him over and over tonight, the way he’s always destroyed me, and this is the best way I can think to do it. I buzz my tongue against his shaft, cup his balls, and suck him all the way down to his base again, and somewhere in the mix of all of that, it’s enough to topple him. I feel his release hit the back of my throat, and he’s coming so hard, so loud, that I’m pretty sure the entire hotel can hear him.

When I’ve milked every drop out of him, I sit back on my knees and give him the most satisfied smirk I can. He’s boneless and trembling, and staring at me in awe as I start easing out of my boxers. When I look on the bedside table, I see he’s thoughtfully laid out a fat stack of condoms and what looks to be a brand new bottle of lube. I grab for both, and when I crawl back over to him, he tries to sit up and grab my dick.

“Lay back, baby,” I tell him forcefully.

“Told you I’d give you a blowjob. I owe you all kinds of blowjobs,” he says, and then I can tell he immediately regrets it. He’s thinking of Lake Placid, that awful night we both must have thought would be our last, and it kills me to know the memory is hurting him all over again.

I lean over him and kiss him, hard, without tongue but with all the passion and conviction I can muster. “You never need to pay up for ‘owing’ me a blowjob ever again. We’ll fuck however we wanna fuck, and tonight, god damn it, I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you. If you put your mouth anywhere near me, I’ll never last a single thrust.”

I kiss him again, and he relaxes, his entire body going slack underneath me.

“Do it. Please. God, I need to feel you inside me.”

I grab the pillow from under his head, and nudge his side with my other hand. “Lift up a little so I can put this under you.”

He obliges, bridging his hips upwards so I can nestle the pillow under the small of his back. His knees fall out to the sides, and he’s fully on display for me—he’s still a little hard, but now that my eyes are used to the dim light, I can see exactly where I’m going next, and my cock jerks with anticipation. The little fucker is just gonna have to wait, though, because we both need a breather here.

I pop the cap to the lube, slick my fingers, and softly kiss the inside of one of his thighs before I bring my fingers down to his crease. I circle him a few times before I press in, just to my first knuckle, and the groan he gives me is so fucking hot, so goddamn incredible, that it’s all my control to not give him more right away. I know he wants more—I want more, too. But I also need to savor him. And I need, more than anything, to last for him.

“Jesus, Wes. Give me more. Please,” he says, echoing my thoughts perfectly.

“I will. You know I will. Breathe, baby. Relax and let me do this.”

I slide my finger in deeper, and he accepts me so readily, so willingly, that I wonder how I ever doubted how much he wanted this. I curve my finger so it hits his prostate, and I’m rewarded with a buck of his hips, and a long string of curses. I twist in, deprive him of the sensation and then give it to him again, loving every wicked word that falls from his lips, every desperate groan, every impatient growl.

“Breathe, baby,” I repeat.

“Wes. I need you so bad.”

I slick my other fingers with the lube and press another inside him, mesmerized again by how easily he draws me in, how he thrusts against the intrusion: not to hide from the stretch, but to ride it and enjoy it so thoroughly. I’d never be able to choose my favorite thing about Jamie, the thing I love most about him, but the way he can bend and change and shift, the way he’s takes on everything and doesn’t hide, doesn’t back down is right up there at the top of the list. He’s loving this, loving it as much as the blowjob, and that just warps my mind. I could probably slide inside him now and he’d just get used to it, take it in total stride and let me fuck him stupid. But I never would. Now, more than ever, I want to be careful with him. I want to worship him. I want to take care of him the way he deserves, the way I didn’t think I’d ever be able to, ever be worthy enough to.

I pump my fingers in and out of him, and I take his rapidly hardening dick in my other hand and stroke him slowly. I’d love to make him come again, love to see his face fall apart as I take him, make him mine, but even if he doesn’t, I’ll make sure he knows he’s everything to me as I get him ready.

“Wes…” he says, and he’s so goddamn impatient, so desperate for me, I almost lose my mind

“Jamie. I love you. Please let me show you how much I love you.”

He tucks his arms under his head, and his legs splay out wider. “You don’t—fuck (when I hit his prostate again)—have to show it. I kn—JESUS (when I add a third finger)—know it. I love you so goddamn much.”

“I meant it when I told you I’ve loved you forever,” I tell him, and it doesn’t feel weird to talk to him like this, so matter-of-fact, even as I’m fingering his ass to open him up for me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt like myself with.”

He’s breathing hard, and not just because half my hand is inside him. He’s hearing my words, not even for the first time today, I realize, but he’s listening. His reaction to them is palpable. Even if he wasn’t feeling what I’m doing to him right now, I think he’d feel these words. I’m no word-smith, but telling Jamie how much I love him is the easiest thing in the world now that I’ve finally sacked up and started.

“Wes…” he says, and there’s real emotion to it now, not just desire. “You have me. Can’t you tell?”

“I can. I’m trying to savor you,” I say.

“You’re trying to drive me crazy and make me come again all over your jersey,” he says, and it’s good we can laugh right now, even though I feel like I’m raw and completely laid bare.

“Don’t come all over my jersey, baby. How am I gonna explain that?” I say, finally twisting my fingers out of him so I sit up on my knees and sheathe myself with a condom. He shivers as I line my cock up with his hole, and again as I slick the latex and a couple droplets slide down from the condom to his cheek.

“Fuck me, Wes. Take me however you want me, but please… please don’t make me wait anymore for you.”

“I fucking love you, Jamie,” I say, and then with one, smooth, steady rock of my hips, I’m inside him, buried to the hilt, and we’re both gasping with relief and ecstasy. I could fuck him hard, fast, and I know he’d love it. But I want to feel every inch of him stretch for me, watch his face contort in the flickering light, and hear every sweet sound that tumbles off his lips as I glide in, slide out, and rock back in. I pump his cock again, and there’s another drop of anticipation weeping from his tip. God damn—he might well come again.

I thrust up so the head of my dick massages his prostate, and the sigh he gives me in return is almost enough to break my resolve for good. I don’t. I thrust with purpose, not abandon, and Christ, he’s perfect. He’s hot and gripping me tighter every time I rut against him, but he’s not begging, not squirming or trying to get me to move faster. He’s just letting me love him. His dark eyes flash up at me, full of lust and love and wonder, and he’s gasping these deep, sucking breaths like I’m oxygen, and he’s stuck in a fucking space vacuum. He’s letting me be everything, the way he’s everything to be. That’s what does me in—his face, his love-filled, awe-struck face.

“Jamie, God!” I grunt, and my hips snap into his as my balls draw up tight and my spine turns to jelly. I keep pumping him as I ride out the wave of pleasure, and a minute, maybe less, later, sticky warmth spreads out across my fingers. I told him over and over this summer that what he’d just done was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, but fuck me—my man is constantly resetting the bar of what the sexiest thing in the world is.

I crumple to his side, gasping for air to fill my own lungs, and he gathers me in his big, strong arms and folds me into him. Our chests rise and fall as we catch our breaths, and when his lips find mine, I can feel him smile that sexy as sin smile that has always, always slain me, and I swear to God, I could come for him again, and again, and again. I could pluck the planets from the skies and gift wrap him stars and constellations. I'd give him everything in existence, and it still might not be enough to explain fully just how much I love him. I think, but don’t say, that that’s probably pretty goddamn romantic. Or cheesy. Probably both.

“Did I… get jizz on your jersey after all?” he asks a second later, a chuckle ready behind the words.

“I think I caught it all. But let’s maybe get that off you before we get riled up again, and I have some serious explaining to do in the morning.”

We peel apart, and he tosses my jersey so deftly, it lands perfectly on the chair next to the bed. I stretch out with him skin to skin, and realize this is what I wanted more than anything. Touching him. Being with him. Getting to love him in this private little room, and feeling him love me back.

“Wes,” he asks after a minute of us stroking each other’s sides and breathing in each other’s scents. “This is all real. Right? We’re not dreaming this?”

It feels so strange to hear the almost-doubt in his voice, because Jamie Canning is nothing if not certain and sure.

“Hell, baby,” I say, and roll him under me again, “if this is a dream, I don’t ever need to wake up again.”


End file.
